Suave
by forever.and.always.unwritten
Summary: Sequel to 'Debonair'. Jack and Emberlynn are searching for the Fountain of Youth, but obstacles must be faced, including a jealousy, a new boy, and Blackbeard!
1. Sailing

**I'm back, my lovelies! I hope you haven't forgotten about lil old . :'( You've probably found some other feisty heroine to love. I wish you the best of luck (fucker)**

**But, if you are staying with me, congrats! This is chapter one of the sequel to 'Debonair'. I hope it meets your standards! And it does NOT have Penelope Cruz, mermaids, or zombies!**

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JACK POV

I woke with a jolt and a loss of heat. Normally, even on the coldest of nights, I would keep warm with a few lanterns and my lovely Emberlynn. The lanterns were blown out and there was only a cold empty place where Emberlynn had once laid. The blankets were pushed away as though ripped from her fragile figure. The thought ran cold fingers down my spine.

A scream of pain filled me completely, and I swung my legs over the side of the mattress. I scrambled out of our cabin and onto the deck. The sight there horrified me beyond anything I thought imaginable.

Two people, a man and a woman, both of whom looked tired, slightly older, and malicious. Cerulean bags hung under their eyes, but a new sort of vigour, excitement was lurking beneath the dark irises, too. I'd no idea why until I realized what was underneath their arms.

Emberlynn.

Her stature was small. She was shivering violently underneath their cold, bony arms. I made to reach out and take her from them, but they hissed in a way that made me cringe. The woman's eyes were the same shade of brown as Emberlynn's. Murky, deceptive…hiding something.

"Be gone, damned spirits!" the man screamed. I recognized him in an instant. Emberlynn's father, and that woman must be her mother. They both looked much more decrepit than when we had seen them at sea so long ago, roaming the reach between worlds. Apparently, death took it's toll on them. Her father - John? - had skin sagging like a bloodhound and eyes to match. Alice, her mother, was even bonier and her hair was whiter and pulled back tighter.

"_HELP_!" Emberlynn's shriek of pure terror pierced the night air with purpose. Immediately, I slid over to her and grabbed her hand that was outstretched to me. But she let out another aggravating screech as though the touch had burnt her. It pained me immensely to see her in such a state.

Then, John and Alice began to move. Backwards, nearer and nearer to the banister. And they were taking her with her. It was almost as though they were going to drown her.

Oh _shit_.

They were.

I made to assault her father and pull him from her, but laying even a finger on him made me burn. But I didn't care. I wanted her back. Needed her back. She was the only reason I truly wanted to live forever. She was the only reason I could ever make it to the Fountain of Youth. I didn't want to live forever without her there by my side.

My grip was strong, and I managed to throw John off, watching with grim satisfaction as he hit the mast, cracking something. Emberlynn looked terrified, but in a way that showed me she didn't regret my actions. I was ready to take hold of her mother when my entire being flooded with painful heat.

I hit the deck loudly, sorely. My back ached, but my throat was worse. John had somehow risen and looked unharmed, except for a glint behind those angry black eyes of malevolent hatred. His fingers were curling around my oesophagus, tightening with each second.

The burn was angry and would surely leave marks. If they didn't, it would be a miracle. In the background of my heart pounding in my ears, I heard distant screams.

"_Please_! Please, don't hurt him! _Please_!" Emberlynn called out. To my surprise, his grip loosened, but I knew what he would do.

Before I could even scramble to my feet, Alice and John took Emberlynn by the hair, pulling her roughly up, and tossed her overboard. Her body hit the side of the ship sharply before she tumbled downwards.

I cried, getting up as the dead couple slithered back under the depths. As much as possible, I leaned over the ship's side to see if she were there. The water was empty, inky black and lonely.

A final shriek of sadness, of pitying, that was gurgled from the water that was most likely pushing down on her echoed loudly. I knew I could swim in it. If I dared try, something inside of me warned my sanity that I would survive. I didn't want to without her.

I couldn't.

My heart was beating rapidly when I sat up. I was still in our cabin. The lanterns were lit, glowing gold across the wooden walls and red duvet. I felt my neck, thankful that there weren't, in fact, any burn marks of any sort.

Feeling guilty for worrying about myself first, I turned my head and saw her there. She was lying next to me, blissfully oblivious to the nightmare that would haunt me forever. Her blonde hair, so much longer and much less worn than her mother's, was splayed out against the pillow. She was curled up so that her front was towards me and her knees and arms were coiled close to her chest and belly. She looked beautiful. And she always does.

A sense of joy and thankfulness washed over me, like a good dose of rum but so much better. I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers, happy when I received a bit of a reaction to tell me that she wasn't, in fact, dead.

"Quite a way to wake up," she breathed against my mouth once we broke apart. She was breathless, that much was obvious, even if this didn't account to anything compared to our previous intimate encounters.

"You liked it, I take it?" I replied tauntingly. She grinned up at me, then let it slide off a bit when she looked in my eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly, gently.

"Nothing," I mumbled in reply. It wasn't her burden to bear. Why share the load?

But she wasn't satisfied. "_Jack_…" she began warningly. I shook my head.

"No, really," I tried to push. "A nightmare, is all." So I wasn't lying to her, that was a good thing to have on my conscience.

"Want to talk about it?" I shook my head yet again.

"No, it's fine, nothing a bit more rest can't fix," I replied. She looked at me, apprehensive, but I smiled and kissed her a final time. Sighing, she laid back down in my arms and fell asleep quickly. I followed suit, thankful to be without those wretched images.

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**EMBERLYNN POV**

Gibbs was the first one awake, after myself, of course. First one of the crewmen to rise from below the deck with more on his mind than rum. He nodded at me politely - I took it that although he didn't hate me with passion, he was a superstitious cod who believed having women aboard was bad luck. So far, that myth proved to be true - and went on his way to tighten the sails.

"It's been done, Mr. Gibbs," I called out over the gentle whistle of the midday. He had been staring at the lines in his hands, so neatly tied and tautly pulled. He nodded again, a ghost of a grin on his rough face.

"Thank ya, lass," he said with relative sincerity. "Saved me some work, ya did." And he headed to the galley for some breakfast. This left me to my thoughts.

I'd been up and about since about five in the morning. I wasn't an early riser by nature, but Jack had kissed me awake late at night, and it seemed alright to climb out and begin to do something to occupy my time in the next hour besides lying in the sheets and Jack's arms. (Although that was severely tempting.) After a quick breakfast of hardtack, cheese, and semi-chilled water - when on a ship, you took what you could and gave nothing back - I headed onto the deck. Within an hour, I had finished the mandatory first-thing priority list for caring for a ship.

Something wasn't right when Jack awoke me at an early hour, one ungodly enough that I daren't say it's name aloud. Something that I couldn't figure out. It was strange. He looked relieved that I was still next to him, but horrific thoughts lurked behind those deep eyes. I didn't dare press the matter, though. Jack would tell me when the time was right.

At the thought of my love, my fingers subconsciously moved to my right hand, where the black wooden ring had been placed on my ring finger. It was the same as the day I had taken it from me. Perhaps a bit more worn, since we'd been at sea for some weeks, but nothing a bit of cleaning didn't take care of.

At sea for weeks. We made port every once in a while. The first time, with only myself and Gibbs crewing the _Blade_, we'd gone in search of a crew. No one on this island called Isle de Ron (meaning Rum Island, did you know? Almost as bad as Tortuga!) was tough enough to crew without breaking his back or falling overboard. They were all, as Gibbs put it so gently, 'good-for-nothing lazy landlubbers!' His words, not mine.

Then, on our second night there, while Gibbs and Jack were drinking themselves silly and I was sitting in our inn room, a gunshot cracked. I looked out my window and saw a group of young men, between the ages of twenty and twenty-six, I imagined, shooting empty bottles of rum off of lined up barrels. The man shooting with sandy hair never missed. The others, all of whom were different in size, shape, and age, were watching with interest, practicing lancing and such things. And all of them were spectacular.

It was a miracle sent from Tia. I knew it.

I hurried to rush down the stairs, not caring I was in only my housecoat. The ground was cold to the touch as I ran barefoot. They all stopped and stared at me when I let out my proposal. From the twenty that were there, eleven boarded the _Blade _the next day and were all now faithful crewmen. I knew only a few of their names, but it didn't matter. They all knew each other and were helpful everywhere, so I couldn't care less if they were robbers.

Adventure was scarce now. It seemed that Jack could no longer attract it. That idea was absolutely ludicrous in every way, however. Jack attracted troublesome voyages like flies to honey. It was inevitable. Yet, somehow, for exactly five weeks, nothing of pure interest happened. It was only a daily routine of waking, eating, working, eating, and sleeping. The odd few times we made port for more supplies, there would be dancing and a night on land. But otherwise, nothing.

I almost missed it. That adrenaline that pumped through your veins when you thought about sword fighting some scummy pirate or shooting a pistol at an enemy. It was wonderful and horrific at the same time. But I feared that if I ever heard the rain and held a pistol at the same time, I would be brought back to the battle where Davy Jones died. And I really hated those moments.

With a sigh, I wrapped the thin, rough blanket I had stolen from the stores tighter around me. Although we weren't in a necessarily cold climate, early morning always felt chilly. As far as I knew, we were sailing somewhere along the east coast of Cuba. I had no idea how long we'd be going for, or where exactly the Fountain was, but I trusted Jack and his judgement. And especially his compass.

The Fountain of Youth. It was a dream that every man had pondered on at least once. As far as history told of the Fountain, it was near Florida's cost, and Ponce de León had attempted to find it in 1523. I hadn't an idea what it would look like, but something had formulated in my mind during our travels thus far.

It would be a luscious pool of crystal clear water, lukewarm to the touch and rippling at the gentlest of breezes. And it always rippled, from the small waterfall plummeting down a smooth rock wall that was entwined in exotic plants. Small blossoms peaked from them, every shade imaginable. It smelt of freshness and purity, something that was sparse with pirates. You could swim in it for hours and never wrinkle, for you were young forever. This was all a dream, but it could be true. Could be.

I turned at the sound of a door swinging. To my surprise, Jack was standing at the door of our cabin, shirtless - I loved him when he was shirtless - and looking frightened. He apparently hadn't seen me, because he began to run across the deck, barefooted, to the side. It was almost comical the way he stared at the light water helplessly.

"Anything wrong?" I asked gently. He jumped a foot backwards at my voice, and looked overwhelmingly relieved. As though he were afraid I'd been taken from his side and heaved overboard.

He ran towards me, hugged me tightly, kissed the top of my head. His embrace was loving, comforted by the feel of me on him. I quite enjoyed it, too.

"Thank goodness," he breathed. I laughed a bit,

"I'm here, love," I murmured, and kissed his rough lips. He smiled against them. When we broke off reluctantly, he began to stomp on the deck. This had become a favorite habit of waking up the crew: creating thunderous booms that echoed throughout the ship and made everyone scramble.

Soon enough, much of the crew, used to this awakening, clambered up sleepily. Some were already dressed, some only in their breeches, but all had sleep still in their eyes. I giggled at the sight. If I weren't currently happily in a relationship with the captain of the _Blade_, I would probably be a bit excited at this. But I was, so I remained calm.

"All hands to the mast, scabrous dogs!" Jack shouted. "I want the sails taut, the lines tauter, and your calluses tautest!" They made to do his orders, but one man with the least on and the most hair called out to him.

"It's been done, Cap'n," he said slightly wearily, followed by a yawn. I found it funny that those were practically the same words I'd said to Gibbs. His gaze rested on me.

"Did you know that I love you?" he asked quietly. I rose, kissed his cheek, and headed to the galley to begin to make something suitable for breakfast.

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**OMIGOODNESS! Chapter one is OVER! Thoughts? I love me some reviews!**


	2. We're Going Where?

**Here is another chapter! It's getting difficult to finish the third, and I wanted to start the fourth before posting this, but I might kill you if I didn't update :) But that's just me!**

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Hardtack really was the only food not eaten by maggots, although some men enjoyed that just as much. Said it added to the flavour all in all, but I only thought of it as repulsive. Not only did hardtack last for weeks on end, it was easy to make. Four parts flour, one part water or rum (depending on the supply of the former), and a titch of salt, when we could find it was mixed, kneaded, cut, and baked over a fire. Tedious, yes. Effective, without a doubt.

No man had any objections to my cooking ever. I had never been taught about recipes or measurements or any such homemaker-type skills. All I knew was how to start a fire and keep it going. This proved to be all you really needed to know in the case of hardtack, as it was so roughly made, and no man had opinions to too-dry or too-crumbly grains when it was all they had.

As the young men feasted on their breakfasts - the aforementioned wonder of a food, one lime or orange each, cheese, and rum to wash it down - I wiped my hands on a filthy rag and wandered to the helm.

Jack hadn't eaten at all, preferring to remain at the wheel, watching the current lap against the sides of the ship, almost looking as though he were frozen in that pose. He hadn't eaten when a bit of breakfast had been offered, hadn't moved in three hours. I wished he would. It startled me, seeing him so still. Even in sleep he shifted more frequently.

Something about his gaze was impossible to discern. The façade he pulled so easily over was composure, but I knew something was there behind it. Anger? (Why would he be angry?) Sadness? (What should sadden him?) Or was it nothing at all? Was I only imagining it all because so many weeks at sea was slowly beginning to get to me?

I intended to find out.

The moment I placed a hand on his shoulder, he turned his head and looked at it, still emotionless. His own rough calloused hand not holding the wheel rubbed circles across my palmer with his thumb. But there was no tenderness that I loved about him in the touch. It was only automatic.

"Jack," I whispered gently, coming closer. I wrapped my arms around his midsection and placed my chin on his shoulder where our hands had just been. He didn't reply in the slightest, with either words or actions. He remained stony.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I quipped back too fast, without harshness. Well, he wasn't angry at me. That was good.

"Please tell me," I pressed.

"Nothing, I swear it, love," he replied gently. At the word 'swear', I thought of a way that may or may not work. After all, he was a pirate, and pirates were known to lie. But, then again, I could easily be called a pirate, too.

"Swear by Calypso, goddess of the sea and my only family that nothing is wrong, and I'll leave the matter." He didn't move for several moments. He seemed to be contemplating his next move. This back and forth between us was like a game of roulette, and we kept drawing blank.

He turned slowly, leaning on the wheel a bit. He didn't have that familiar smug air about him that made whores tighten their corsets in hopes that their busts would spill out of their shirts. Modesty, honesty, anxiousness consumed him. I didn't enjoy this Jack. He worried me.

"I had a nightmare," he said, looking at the deck with slight embarrassment. I wasn't going to only take this, though. Nightmares were fairly common. But none had been so bad as to make him keep quiet for hours on end.

"And…" I pushed. He smirked a bit sadly.

"And you were there. And your…parents, I think." I shuddered. If my parents were there, it wouldn't be good. "And they were…taking you away. They were dragging you, hurting you, making you cry." He looked ready to choke back a sob. "And I couldn't help, because each time I touched you in the slightest, you would burn. You were tossed into the ocean, you drowned. And…Lord, Emberlynn, I can't continue on if you aren't there with me. I just can't."

The first tear I had ever seen come from my lover fell down his face, and I hurriedly wiped it in fear a crewman would see it and tarnish Jack's reputation. He didn't shed anymore.

"I hope you know that my parents are long gone," I soothed. "Dead. Have been forever. And I don't regret it. And what you saw last night, it was a dream. A bad one, but still, only something to gnaw away at you until you were nothing but a crying captain. I'm right here, love, and I'm not going anywhere."

He enveloped me quickly in a hug, which I returned easily and sniffed into his shirt. He smelt of rum, salt, and tears. Something about the mixture was alluring, but I hadn't the lack of heart to seduce him in such a vulnerable state.

"Breakfast, then?" I asked gently. He shook his head, instead grabbing a stout brown bottle half-filled with a liquid of the same color and shaking it. _Rum_, I thought obviously. Shaking my head at him with a grin, I went back down the stairs to move on.

Back to normal. Or as normal as our life could get.

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"We're going _where_?" I asked incredulously for the fifth time. I still couldn't wrap my mind around his words. It didn't make any sense.

"Isla de Las Riquezas," he replied with a smug smirk for the fifth time. He still couldn't get over that I was so astonished. It made sense, I supposed, as he was a pirate. And pirates were known for their love of all things shiny. But he had told me once, late at night, a story of the Isla de Las Riquezas.

It had been a long day of pillaging and plundering, murdering the evil for once instead of the innocent. I hadn't been able to sleep. The guilt of knowing that my bullet had hit a man not involved in our quarrel whatsoever was eating me alive. He had wrapped his long arms around my quivering body and I had sniffed into his shirt.

"Want to hear a story, love? Shift the pain to me instead?" he had asked gently. I almost laughed at his words. The tears weren't stopping any time soon, but they were silent and wouldn't drown out his words.

"Isla de Las Riquezas," he began slowly. "Remember that name. Means Island of Riches. A place cut in two. One side is filled with richie-riches, the other far worse than Tortuga. A wall almost seven stories high and made of indestructible black stone. You can hit your bottle, your fist, your entire body with it, and it won't even quake. But that's not really important to my tale.

"Anyways, at seventeen, eighteen - I lost count of the years - I went there in hopes of making some money the old fashioned way: with a pistol and cutlass. Or maybe just by pick pocketing. Didn't matter. Either way, I docked there, let my few men roam for a while, and then headed in the direction of town.

"Whilst there, two things happened: firstly, I was seduced by some cheap whore. Lost me innocence, if you understand such a thing." I bitterly neglected the bit of jealousy within me that gently roared. "Secondly, I learned the meaning of evil. Some pirates may be bad, mean, spiteful, jealous, murderous, annoying sons of bitches, but most aren't evil. Not truly, at least."

I looked up at him through wet, tired eyes, wondering what was going to happen. He didn't return the gaze. It remained on something I couldn't see, something I was sure wasn't even there. He was lost in this story, which meant it must be serious.

"You see, this whore…she had a husband. A man who hated it when other men even looked at his wife. I'd bet almost anything that most of the shootings happening on this island were by him because someone gave the girl a sidelong glance. And she was something to look at. No comparison whatsoever to you, though, love." He ran a hand down my neck gently, lovingly. I leaned farther into him.

"Edward, she had called him. Edward Teach," he went on, shuddering at the name. "And she was Cher. He found me in bed with her. She purred at me, not caring that I was within an inch of dying even though he was only glaring. He chased me out of the house in my skivvies, and didn't catch me till we were alone on the beach. Nowhere to go, no one to call to. Just two bad men, one ready to kill the other. And that's how I got these."

He rolled over so his back was towards me, pulled his shirt off, and showed me his back. Along the shoulder blades were gunshots, numerous in quantity and low in depth. They were only scars now, but still looked painful. Deep cuts were all over his lower back, too. One in particular was to the left and hugely obvious. It read 'BB'.

"'_BB_'?" I asked. He nodded, covering his back again.

"Aye," he sighed. He faced me again, and now looked in my eyes. "And he enjoyed doing it, too. There was satisfaction plastered all over his face when he dug that dagger into my skin, when he pulled the trigger over and over. There was no remorse. When he was done with me, he dropped me to the sand and left me to, supposedly, die. I was found by some locals, though, before all my blood was gone."

I had shuddered at the thought of him dying on the beach, no help at all. He kissed my forehead and we fell asleep.

"_Why_?" I asked, back in the present day. The memory was horrible.

"Because we are in need of riches, that's why," he replied easily. "So, clearly, the Island of Riches would be where we would visit."

"Jack, you told me that you never wanted to step foot on that island ever again," I pushed. And it was true. Just after the story, before I went into dreamland, he had sworn never to go there again.

He nodded. "Aye, and I'd rather not. But it's our only way to find the Pearl." I rose an eyebrow.

"I thought we were after the Fountain," I angrily muttered. He nodded again.

"Aye, and we are. But we need money to bargain with, jewels for your pretty neck, and the fastest ship in the Caribbean," he countered.

"Why are you so sure Barbossa's headed to the Isla de Las Riquezas?" I inquired.

"I know him. He'll want wealth first, immortality second, sex third."

"When did sex get into this conversation?"

"There's always sex with me around, love." He winked. I felt my knees buckle and I was thankful I was leaning on his desk. It held me up well enough.

"Fair point," I went on, regaining my posture. "But why aren't we able to go to any richie-rich town and pick some pockets?"

"Because Barbossa doesn't want just any town full of money, he wants _the _town full of money. He'll bargain his gold, trade it, and somehow, he'll receive some idea of how to get to the Fountain. People on the Isla de Las Riquezas are smart. They've been around. They know things."

I groaned and dropped into a barrel that had been fixated into a chair, complete with black padding. It was my favorite by far.

This man was infuriating. He was hard and cruel one day, mushy and in love the next. Hot, then cold. It was so difficult to keep up with his constant mood swings. But I managed.

And today, he wanted to go Isla de Las Riquezas. Who was I to argue?

"It'll only be for a few days," he added gently. It sounded more to himself. So he wasn't lying about not wishing to go, but against his emotions, he was going. So he could find Barbossa and then…

Then what?

"What exactly are you planning on doing when you find said Barbossa?" I asked wearily. He smirked again.

"Lead him in the wrong direction. Maybe pay some weathered looking bloke to steer him right when he should go left. Anything and everything to keep him from finding the Fountain before you and I."

I sighed a final time and rose from my favorite chair to look him in the eye. "Fine. We'll go."

"I don't believe I was asking your consent on the whereabouts this ship shall sail," he replied anxiously. I knew that even thinking about the damned place was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. And one day, he'd fall.

"Well, now you have it anyways." And I left the cabin.

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**Alrighty, there you are. A place worse than Tortuga :P Also, I wonder who this Edward Teach fellow is... Understand it? New enemy in the next chappie!**

**Review! I will NOT update and finish chapter three until I get a few reviews! DO IT! - click down here V**


	3. Isla de Las Riquezas

**We're now on Isla de Las Riquezas! This is gonna be weeeird! Enjoy!**

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Jack had not been kidding when he said that the lesser side of Isla de Las Riquezas was worse than Tortuga. The first thing I saw when we docked at around one in the morning was a woman running starkers down the dock, being chased by a maniacal man. She zoomed past Jack and I as he helped me down the ramp and jumped off into the rocky ocean. The man followed suit, giving a final scream of glee. I looked absolutely horrified, and Jack could tell. He laughed a bit.

"What'd I tell you?" His tone was a bit anxious.

"I thought that the people would at least have the decency to wear clothing!" I nearly shrieked.

"Decency?" Jack laughed again, but it was forced. "What decency? All these people care about is making a quick buck. Whether that be from killing, prostitution, pick-pocketing, or just plain working. Money is everything." As we began to walk into town, I couldn't help a nagging sense of worry. He wasn't comfortable here, that much was obvious. And I couldn't help but wonder why.

"Jack?" I asked quietly. He looked down at me. "Are you afraid Edward is still here?" He didn't stop, which surprised me, but did remove his gaze from mine.

"No," he replied evenly. "I know that Edward left many years ago, left his wife, his town, his money. And he doesn't go by Edward Teach anymore." That was all I received from him, and I didn't push for more.

The dark side of the island, as I was now going to call it, was reeking of alcohol and sex. I saw whores humping the poles that held up balconies on bars. Buildings were being burnt to a crisp, until all that was left of them were embers and blackened bodies. Several of the drunkest fellows, tipsy as a dinghy in a storm, only having a firm grip on their drinks, actually stumbled up to me and planted huge, wet, disgusting kisses on my cheek. I shuddered, and Jack took out his pistol, holding it near their heads.

"Best not do that, mate," he would say, and they would back up to go find another girl to hit on.

He held me tightly around the waist as we went into the loudest of taverns. I could hear the music from three blocks away, harsh and drunken. Outside, barrels upon barrels of what I could only assume was rum stood tall, spewing from holes and being caught by the filthy mouths of grubby men. The interior was no better. All wooden, by many stains splattering the tables, floors, and walls, a flight of stairs ran up the center of the room to a second level that led to an outdoor balcony. There was cluttered dancing and overthrown tables littering the first floor. Constantly, people were tumbling to unconsciousness from the railing on the second floor.

Jack, for the first time in my living memory, didn't care for a drink or a dance or even a quick bite. He only held me close to him and swivelled through the scattered messes of people until we were near the back.

I hadn't noticed several huge black doors. One read 'Authorized Personnel Only'. He dodged that one, as well as another that had a huge chuck taken out so you could see a group of people having sex all at once. Finally, the last and dustiest was his route.

In we went, to be met with a shivering little man. He had spectacles with lenses the size of dimes on the edge of his nose. Gray hair, thin and ugly, was combed over his freckled head. His piercing blue eyes were clouded over by fright and worry. On his lumpy body was a dirtied gray wife beater and brown slacks, both stained with rum and…was that blood? He was leaning against he farthest wall, near a corner, quivering violently.

"W-Who are you?" he stuttered, barely getting the words out. A sob followed. I easily pitied the man, but Jack didn't. He walked purposefully towards him, never breaking stride. When he reached the older man, he stared intently into those frightened eyes.

"Jack Teague," he replied easily, darkly. I didn't dare look at Jack, because the smaller man was staring at me, his jaw slightly ajar and trembling. "And you?"

"Why are y-you here?" He blatantly ignored the question. But Jack wouldn't drop it.

"Name first." The short man was looking at me intensely, almost as though expecting me to help him. But I didn't know him.

"J-Jervis H-Howe," he sputtered. Nothing about this name meant anything to either of us, I could tell. He suddenly leaned farther to his left, clutching the spot that was dying his shirt red.

"Who was just in here, Jervis?" Jack asked solemnly. I was afraid to learn the answer.

"N-No one," he mumbled. "N-no one of i-inconsequence…big, big m-man…s-smelled foul…n-no eye…"

_Ragetti_.

"Jack, they've been here," I whispered urgently. He didn't move his darkening eyes from Jervis. I knew he'd heard me, though, and that he was thinking the same thing.

"And what did they pay you for your knowledge?" Jervis looked ready to pass out from his blood loss. I watched in sickening fascination as it dripped between his tightly clasped fingers and to the floor.

"D-Don't know w-what you're…_m-madman_…" Jervis mumbled on. "K-knowledge…"

Jack didn't budge, though. Didn't believe a word this man said. "I know you've spoken to a man named Hector, and his colleagues. I know he's asked you for some idea of how to arrive at the Fountain of Youth with haste. Now what did he pay you for your bearings?"

"D-Didn't do n-nothing…d-don't know…" A quick look at Jack put him a bit straighter, and he finished with relative calm, "F-Five hundred p-pounds." I almost let out a gentle whistle. Barbossa _really _wanted immortality.

"What _are _the bearings?" Jack forcefully whispered. Jervis shuddered as he breathed in and out.

"_F-Fuck you_," and he fell to the ground. I jumped away from the growing puddle of blood that surrounded his limp form. Jack didn't look twice at the man, and quickly hurried out of the room with me in tow.

We went out the door not used the first time that I hadn't noticed, and were met with more screams. My world hadn't stopped by the death of Jervis Howe, who I hadn't known for more than a few minutes, but it had stilled slightly. While I was rushed around through angry groups of men barricading doors with men and drunken whores having wild crazy sex on the streets, I imagined his family. His wife. His children. His parents. If he had any of those things, they would be devastated.

All because of bloody Barbossa.

"I hate that man," I muttered spitefully beneath my breath. Jack noticed, but didn't ask who I was speaking of or why. He only pulled me more forcefully. And before I knew it, we were on the Pearl again.

Jack wished to immediately head off, away from this wretched island. But I shook my head and dismissed the thought. It was now a bit after two, which meant that if anyone saw us heading off now, they may go on a drunken rampage of shooting. He admitted that that was true and we remained on the ship for the night.

* * *

I woke up to an empty, slightly chilly bed, with the duvet pulled up so it revealed the dark blue sheets beneath. On the pillow not holding my head, a neatly folded note was lying. It looked lonely and cold. Quickly, I picked it up and read over the messy scribble that was Jack's handwriting:

_Emberlynn,_

_Off to restock the hold with rum. Be back soon. DO NOT WANDER!_

_- Jack_

I was surprised. Only yesterday we'd had crates upon crates of the stuff. But I halfway through the night, I did feel a rustling. I suppose that Jack must've downed his sorrows with a few bottles of the stuff.

But why not wander? He didn't own him, I wasn't his property. Really, what was holding me back, besides a guilty conscience?

I easily slipped into my breeches and blouse, followed by a belt, a pistol, and my favorite sword. My boots sat idly by my feet before covering them. After braiding my hair quickly so it fell down my back, I was all set.

A line ran down the length of the _Blade_, which I could only assume he used, and I followed suit. Once on the dock, I looked both ways, then plopped onto a barrel.

"Looking for anyone?"

I jumped at the sound of a voice that belonged not to Jack speaking directly to me. In the glare of the sun, I looked up and saw a rather tall man. Tanned in complexion and humble in air, he grinned down at me with no hint of smugness nor knowing. It was simply an innocent question aimed at an innocent-looking - did I look innocent? - woman alone in front of a ship.

Nothing suspicious about that.

"Not in particular," I replied evenly, looking away and hoping he'd leave. But no such luck. I heard another barrel being scrape across wood as it was dragged closer to me.

"Then why the rush to remove yourself from my presence?" He began to do something with a long, narrow strip of wood and a knot of string. It soon occurred that he was creating a net.

"Because I was told as a child not to talk to strangers." One of his hands dropped from the net and was held at arms length towards me.

"Leon Howe," he introduced, but I didn't take his hand. I was too dumbstruck at the last name.

"Howe?" I asked tentatively. He nodded. "Did your…do you know where your father may be? Not that it's any of my business, but…" I wasn't exactly sure how to end that line.

Leon let out a long sigh. "Aye," he muttered. "Dead. Only last night, as a matter of fact." I bit my lip guiltily. "Murdered by some bugger, called himself Hector. Then pestered to death by a Teague fellow. And his mistress, he assumed. I saw the whole thing." In my mind, I thanked the heavens I hadn't turned, else ways I'd've been caught as the 'mistress' and murdered right there on the spot.

"I'm…sorry for your loss," I muttered. What else could I say to the son of the man Jack and I _had_ the chance to help, but opted not to?

"But, it's in the past," he went on. "And now I have met you, and that has made my day all the brighter. Though I do long to know your name." I quickly tried to come up with some fake alias.

"Hel-"

"EMBERLYNN!"

I winced, turning on my barrel to see Jack waltzing down. He was so obviously drunk, and more than the almost empty bottle gave it away. He was walking tipsily, going from side to side and almost knocking a small boy fishing into the ocean. I could smell the heady reek of rum from many feet away.

"Wassup!" he nearly shrieked, his voice going high-pitch. I normally would've laughed at this, but I wished to remain conspicuous. And Jack was terrible at remaining conspicuous.

"Um, Paul!" I jumped up and held onto him closely, half to keep him from doing anything stupid, and half because Leon was eyeing me in a way I did not enjoy. "You're back!"

"No, wuv," he mumbled. "I'm Jack. Say it wif me: _Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaacckkkkkkk_."

"Pleasure to meet you, Jack," Leon greeted, sticking out his hand again. "Leon Howe, at your service."

Jack only stared at the hand with an absurd expression on his face. With his free hand, he prodded it, and then smiled at Leon with all teeth.

"Care to crew me ship, lad!" Jack nearly shouted. Leon looked mildly surprised, and I tried to tell Jack silently otherwise.

"Why not?" he asked, grinning. And then he scaled the line to the deck of the _Blade_. I turned harshly to Jack and glared.

"What the _bloody _hell?" I spat. He looked at me with the same absurd expression. "Why would you do that? Inviting Leon on board is a _bad _idea!"

"Why?" he asked, oblivious.

"Because he is the son of the man Barbossa stabbed last night!" I whispered hurriedly. He barely acknowledged my words, though, and was staring at my hand in fascination. He grabbed it and looked at the ring.

"Luv…ely…" I huffed out my chest, took hold of the bottle, and smashed it harshly over Jack's head. He crumpled to the ground.

Damn, I would need Leon's help to tow him up.

* * *

**Gotta love a drunk Jack ;D I know I do**

**Anywhoozles, press the review button and make my day. I really am a quicker writer with some feedback, and I especially love really long paragraphs! REVIEW!**


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